


Fire-breathing

by sinemoras09



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Canon Backstory, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Loneliness, Masturbation, Remix, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinemoras09/pseuds/sinemoras09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of Uchiha Obito. Collection of oneshots and drabbles. Spoilers for chapter 600.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Then There Would Be Sun

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a rather big folder of little Obito-centric drabbles I've been meaning to clean up and post. They're all part of this huge head canon I have about Obito and his life after Rin's death. I've published four fics separately already (Sunglasses, Meteors, Rise and Fall, and There Will be Sun), but for my own organization I'm re-posting them here: I plan to keep adding little drabbles to them, and maybe even flesh this out into a full-length fic. Hopefully this all makes sense, lol. In any case this is something I've been meaning to do for a while so please ignore me re-posting lol XD

It never stops raining in Amegakure. Over buildings, the rain sluices down in large sheets, coating the outsides of the spiraling towers and the watchgates like a wet curtain; on the ground, the rain falls in harsh slants, bouncing off puddles on concrete and seeping into the soil.

Outside the village, the rain is cold, sharp, and relentless. Obito stands, looking out across the landscape, as the rain seems to fall with a deliberate weight: his back is soaked and the fabric of his cloak drips, and his feet squelch in puddles as he steps forward. Silently, Obito pulls on his hood and adjusts his mask, his sharingan spinning, waiting for the clouds to part and the winds to rise, and for the coming storm to finally wash over.

 

*****

 

He's standing at their graves again. Silently, Obito watches as Kakashi reverently kneels forward, setting a bouquet of flowers in front of Rin's headstone. They are lilies this time: the week before, Kakashi had brought a bouquet of roses, red and pink and wrapped in a cone of white paper. He never brings anything for Obito: instead, Kakashi just stands and stares for awhile, as if speaking to him, or praying for him. His grave, unlike the others, is without offerings, no half-spent candles or wilted flowers covering his head stone.

It is just as well: the gifts are wasted on the dead, and Obito if anything had died a long time ago.

 

*****

 

The mask maker he visits is a civilian, old and gray and hunching over his work bench. The masks he's made are for festivals and for children, hung up in clean, bright colors and decorating the walls. "A shame," the mask maker says, and he turns over Obito's old mask in his hands. "A mask like this cracked so easily! I will see what I can do."

Obito watches, silently. The mask maker's hands are knotted and arthritic, the joints of his fingers stiff and knobby. The mask Obito needs now must be stronger and more resilient, but he knows he will miss the old orange whorl.

"Are you a ninja?" the old man's granddaughter asks. She comes out from the back room and sits next to him. "How come you're wearing a mask?"

Obito looks at her. She is young - six, seven at the most - and painfully unaware of the goings-on in the shinobi world. Civilians often are, Obito thinks, and silently he removes his mask, lets the girl see the scars on his face. "Do they hurt?" the girl asks. There is a bandaid covering a cut on her shin.

Six years-old. Obito was about that age when he began his training, thirteen when he had supposedly died. The girl sucks on a piece of hard candy and loses interest in him, jumping up from the bench to run up to her grandfather, who smiles and pats her on the head.

"Forgive me my granddaughter," the old man says, kindly. "She has never met a shinobi before."

Obito rises, looking out from the window.

They stand on the backs of fallen nin. Discreetly, Obito moves and quietly balls up the wanted sign tacked up on the merchant's bulletin board, a poorly drawn caricature of a man in a mask. Images copied from bingo books are notoriously diluted out here, among the merchants and the farmers with no concept of shinobi life. Behind him, the girl chats idly while the grandfather smiles and laughs, and Obito can hear the sturdy sounds of the old man carving into the wood.

 

*****

 

He wears the name like a well-worn cloak: Uchiha Madara. The man of legend. Ever since his sensei called him by that name, Obito found it fit him well, slipping over him like a second skin. Even if the others had claimed to know Madara in the past, all it took was a little mental tweaking, the subtle application of genjutsu and suggestion, to feign the appearance of immortality.

"Uchiha Madara," his sensei said. "No. That's impossible. He's been long since dead."

"Has he?" Obito said, and he could see it, the look of fear and doubt flickering on his sensei's face.

He finds that people are surprisingly easy to break. His sensei was no exception.

 

*****

 

"What happened to your eye?" the little girl says. Obito turns to look at her. "Did you lose it in a battle?"

Funny. Among his subordinates in the Akatsuki or his enemies in faraway lands, no one has ever dared speak to him so directly. Even before he took on the mantle of Uchiha Madara, shinobi of enemy villages could sense Obito was dangerous, and often kept a wide berth.

Obito has no need for friendship: he has bigger goals, a grander scheme to follow.

But Obito is tired. The civilian village had taken a full four days of travel by teleportation, and though Obito normally used his Jikuukan Idou to teleport long distances, the land is far and remote and well-removed from any shinobi territory. The girl offers him a piece of candy and swings her legs on the wooden bench, and quietly Obito takes it from her, turning the brightly colored wrapper in his hands.

The shop is quiet. Sunlight comes in bright amber streaks, coloring the room with a warm orange glow. "You should eat it," the little girl says.

Obito turns. The little girl is looking at the candy, expectantly.

"It's strawberry flavored," the little girl says. "It's really good."

"Child. Leave the man alone," the grandfather says.

Obito says nothing. He looks at the little girl and holds up the candy. Then, as if performing a magic trick, he uses his jutsu to make the piece swirl, then disappear.

The little girl squeals. "Grandpa! Look!"

"I saw," the old man says, and gives Obito an apologetic look, Thank you, shinobi-san, for putting up with my granddaughter.

"Can you do that again?" the little girl says, and she leans excitedly, peering into his cloak. Obito waves his hand: the candy re-appears.

"Wow!" the little girl says, and Obito leans back, closing his eye.

It is times like this that Obito remembers the reasons behind his plan. It fortifies him. Too long he had shut himself off from the world, had worked alone and without a confidante, someone with whom he could share his hardships. Manipulation, suggestion. Twisting other men's needs to suit his ends. Even those who are close to him - those who know him as Madara - are wary, and he does not trust them. If he were his old self, he would falter under the weight of such loneliness, but Obito knows, just as he knows the moon above him and the sun that rises every day, that his actions have a purpose, and that his suffering will not be in vain.

The little girl plays with a cloth doll. She brushes its hair, then shows it to him, smiling, proud. Obito takes the doll from her and the little girl squeals, and the grandfather says, "Child. Leave him be!" and the little girl grabs the doll and runs, bare feet pounding on the hardwood floor.

"It's taking longer than I thought," the old man says. He smiles apologetically, rubbing a calloused hand against his neck. "Forgive me, shinobi-san. I know you have traveled a long way, but I promise you: I will work on this piece all night!"

Obito nods.

"There is an inn not too far from here," the old man says, and the little girl smiles, watching as Obito stands. "Tell them I'm the reason for holding up your travels, and they will let you stay for free."

"Thank you," Obito says. He lets his hand fall heavily on the little girl's head; she beams up at him, smiling.

In the hotel room, Obito sits on the bed and removes his mask. It is dark now and Obito lets his fingers run over the jagged bumps of scarred skin. Some areas are numb and dead to his touch; others tingle slightly, frayed ends of nerves that sometimes burst with jolts of searing pain. His scar does not hurt, fortunately. Silently Obito sets down his mask and takes off his cloak, then moves to sit on the floor. Even here, in this civilian village, old habits die hard, and Obito sleeps upright, back against the wall and a katana against his shoulder.

When was the last time Obito had slept on a proper bed? He can't remember. Surely it was during his youth, when he and Rin and Kakashi hefted heavy sleeping mats and passed out on shared blankets during genin missions. Even when he is with the Akatsuki, he only sleeps for a few hours, sleeping lightly and waking to the smallest sound, the smallest threat around him. There are times, times when he is drained and physically exhausted, where he teleports himself to another dimension, sleeping among shapeless things in the place between other existences: he does this rarely, though, because the jutsu is long and exhausting and often times Obito wakes up with searing pains in his eye, and often the jutsu makes him feeling worse. So Obito does not rest. He waits, ever ready to face an enemy foolish enough to try to kill him.

He remembers the first time he slept upright: it was during a mission outside of the Lightning Country. They had gotten ambushed but Minato had somehow managed to defend them. Still, he was shaken and even Kakashi was more than a little disturbed, so when Minato suggested they all try to get some sleep, Obito was the first to grab his kunai and move out into the periphery.

"Obito. What are you doing?" Rin said.

"I'm sleeping upright," Obito said. He settled his back against the trunk of an old tree. "I'm not gonna let my guard down, not even once!"

"That's stupid," Kakashi said. "Minato-sensei is standing guard."

"Well I'm gonna stand guard too!" Obito said. "If someone attacks us I'll be ready, unlike you--"

"--if someone attacks us, I will get them before you even wake up," Kakashi said. "Obito. You might as well sleep the normal way. I don't want to hear you complaining in the morning."

Kakashi had that smug, superior look that made Obito want to kick things, and Rin twisted her hands. Obito glared, shoving a kunai in his lap.

"Fine," Obito said. "Then I'm going to sleep over here."

"You do that," Kakashi said, and Obito moved and stomped farther out from the camp, then leaned up against another tree. He heard Minato call out, "Obito, what are you doing?" but Obito glared and crossed his arms, resolute, before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Obito was not used to sleeping upright. Around him, there were soft night sounds of insects and wind, and without the thick sleeping mats and the fire, Obito was stiff and cold. His back hurt. Even the kunai, which he held in his fist, started to feel heavy and uncomfortable.

Stupid Kakashi. Stupid sensei. Tears pricked at his eyes and Obito forced his eyes shut again, suddenly feeling stupid and lonely but too proud to join the rest of his camp. He was the better shinobi, he would show them! But they were all asleep, and Obito pulled off his goggles to wipe his eyes.

The morning was torture. Obito's back hurt. His shoulders ached. He did not sleep, and while Rin and Kakashi were well-rested, Obito dragged behind them, hefting his pack and trying his hardest not to complain.

He fell asleep while the others stopped to rest, waking only to feel Rin's hand gently waking him at the shoulder.

 

*****

 

"It is done," the old man says.

Obito gives him his payment, then moves to the mirror and puts on the mask. The mask fits him well, and though he has not yet implanted the Rinnegan, there is a second eyelet, which exposes the gaping maw of his left socket. He is careful to close that eye, before turning to show the little girl.

"Shinobi-san, there is something I want to ask you."

Obito adjusts his cloak, and turns. The old man is standing, the little girl hiding against the apron at his waist. "We heard there is going to be a war," the old man says.

Obito watches. The old man's arm is wrapped protectively around the little girl's shoulder, who is looking up at him with frightened eyes.

"Are you frightened, child?" Obito kneels. The little girl shakes her head, staring at him. Slowly, Obito reaches forward, then strokes the curls of the little girl's head.

"Do not be afraid, little one. For I fight on the side of peace."

"I hope you win, shinobi-san," the old man says. Obito rises again, meeting his eyes. "I hope, for all our sakes, you win."

"As do I," Obito says, and he raises his hood, pausing once to look back at them, before closing the door.


	2. Sunglasses

There are certain advantages to being an Uchiha: girls, money, prestige - the status of Elite Motherfucking Shinobi, and knowing that if anyone even thinks about messing with you, you can whip out your badass Sharingan and show them who's boss.

Sometimes Obito wonders if he was born into the wrong clan.

Sometimes, you just gotta adjust your goggles and go.

 

****

 

"Our eyes are our most powerful weapons," his father says. He sits Obito on his knee, showing him a picture book of all the famous Uchiha of times long past. "Uchiha Madara. Uchiha Izuna. They all conquered the world with the power of their eyes."

His father looks at him imploringly. "Now do you understand why you cannot wear those goggles?"

"No," Obito says. His father sighs, then stands.

"Take them off," his father says.

Obito watches as his father turns, grave and grim-faced and disappearing behind the rice-paper sliding door.

 

****

 

The fact of the matter is, Obito doesn't like fighting. He'd rather stay at home, playing with his sisters or going out to walk the dogs.

"You are not a goddamn Inuzaka!" his father says, when Obito proudly rides home on a larger-than-life Inuzaka wolf hound. "Dammit, Obito! Do you wish to shame our clan?"

"I don't see what's the big deal," Obito says. He adjusts his goggles; the dog obligingly licks his nose. His father frowns.

"Look at Kakashi," his father says. "He is not even an Uchiha, and yet he throws shuriken better than you."

"Kakashi's a genius," Obito says.

"Only the lazy say 'genius.' That boy trains every day," his father says.

"He looks weird," Obito says. His father lets out a long-suffering sigh.

 

****

 

The rest of the clan is equally as unhelpful.

At the clan meetings, Obito cranes his neck to look past the throng of Uchiha elders standing solemnly in front of him. Everyone else is dressed in ceremonial black; Obito is too, but somehow his clothes just don't fit right; they sag in the places they're supposed to gently drape, wrinkle inelegantly where there is supposed to be none. "Obito. Take these off," his father says, and Obito grudgingly pushes up his goggles.

"Your son needs discipline," Fugaku says. Obito crouches behind the door to his room, listening to his father's friends talk. "Akio. I do not wish to insult your parenting abilities, but without a mother, you must play both those roles."

Obito lies back in bed and glares at the wall.

 

****

 

His little sisters don't play as much anymore. Every morning, Obito watches as they file out of their house, dresses pressed and hands folded demurely in front of them.

When their mom was alive, they used to play outside in the grass, jumping in the river and chasing butterflies in the yard. After she died, his sisters stayed in the house, so Obito took it upon himself to catch a butterfly and trap it in a jar; his sisters were happy at first, but after a while the butterfly died, too. Obito had the misfortune of making them feel worse.

The next day, Obito snuck out during recess and hid by the old swing; no one went there anymore, and he could sit and hide without worrying about anyone calling him a crybaby. So Obito sat, and sat, and listlessly swung around a little when a shadow fell on his form.

"Obito. Are you okay?"

And Obito looked up and saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

It was the first time Rin had ever talked to him. If he thinks back to it now, he's pretty sure that's when he fell in love with her, too.

 

****

 

On the day Obito graduates the Academy, Obito's father ties on the head protector himself, studying his son with intense dark eyes.

"This is the day when children become men," his father says. "Now is the time to abandon your childish pursuits. You are a shinobi now. Uchiha Obito, of the Uchiha clan!"

Obito scratches his head, then swats at a mosquito on his sleeve.

"Perhaps you will grow into it," his father says.

 

*****

 

They assign Obito to Minato's team. "The yellow flash!" his father says. "Surely you'll learn something."

But Obito doesn't care about Minato. All he cares about is that he's with Rin. The universe for once seems to be cooperating.

Obito walks up to Rin, grinning like an idiot. Then he realizes she's talking to Kakashi.

Obito decides the universe doesn't particularly like him.

*****

Kakashi is standing by the water fountain, looking stupid-cool as he gives everyone his I'm-too-good-to-pull-down-my-mask-to-drink look.

Obito frowns. Maybe Kakashi isn't that bad. He's never talked to him before, so who knows? Maybe he'll be nice like Rin.

"Oi!" Obito says. "Teammate!"

Kakashi ignores him. Behind him, Minato-sensei frowns.

 

****

 

Because the team isn't as cohesive as Minato would like, Obito finds himself sitting in a circle next to Kakashi and Rin, with Minato smiling a hopeful smile.

"So we'll start with me," Minato says. "My name is Minato. I am a jounin. I like inventing jutsus and reading in my spare time."

Minato smiles. He turns to Rin. "Rin-chan? How about you?"

Obito watches as Rin smiles shyly. "My name is Rin," Rin says. "I like running and arranging flowers."

"Good! And how about you, Obito?"

Obito is too busy looking at Rin to answer. "Obito?" Minato says.

"Oh!" Obito sits up. "I'm Obito. And I like my goggles," Obito says.

"That's stupid," Kakashi says.

"Oi! What's wrong with my goggles?" Obito says.

Minato sighs. It reminds him of his father.

 

****

 

Kakashi is an asshole: too talented and too smug, whipping around his katana like a goddamn extension of his arm.

"You know why you don't have the Sharingan, don't you?" Kakashi says. Obito glares and Rin sits with her hands on her knees, listening attentively. "It is because you lack the talent."

"Teme!" Obito says. Kakashi shrugs.

"It's true," Kakashi says. "The other Uchiha our age have already awakened it. Maybe you're just learning impaired."

"Kakashi! That's enough," Minato says.

Obito's lack of Sharingan continues to plague him through the rest of the year: at the chuunin exams, no one believes him when he tells them he's an Uchiha, staring suspiciously and squinting their eyes. "Where's your Sharingan?" the other genin ask.

Obito mumbles and rubs his neck, "I haven't got it yet." The other genin squint.

"How come?" they ask. "I thought all Uchiha get it by now."

"Well I didn't, okay?" Obito says.

He doesn't need the Sharingan to see the Uchiha genin roll their eyes.

 

*****

 

Minato-sensei is the only one who is kind to him. "You have a special gift, Obito-kun," Minato says. "Just because you're a late bloomer doesn't mean it's any less special."

"Late bloomer?" Obito perches his hands on his knees, peering at him through his goggles. "So you think I'll get my Sharingan?"

"Eventually, yes," Minato says. He rubs his head, staring up at the sky. "But you don't need Sharingan to be special," Minato says. "Everyone contributes in their own way. Rin-chan has her medical jutsu and Kakashi has his one-track mind. You, Obito-kun, keep everyone in balance."

"I do?" Obito stares.

"Of course you do. You keep Kakashi-kun from getting a big head."

"He does have a big head!" Obito says. He grins. "Minato-sensei! So you think I might even be able to beat Kakashi someday?"

Minato looks out into the horizon. A breeze stirs, and Obito shivers, slightly. "You shouldn't be so fixated on besting your teammates," Minato says, finally. "You should only focus on bettering yourself."

Later, Obito watches as Minato waves at him from down the street, turning and heading back home.

Obito knows what Minato doesn't tell him: he won't ever beat Kakashi. Not by a longshot.

It makes Obito feel kind of bad.

 

****

 

"You shouldn't get so down on yourself," Rin says. She and Obito are sitting on the swings, Obito watching silently as Rin chews on a dango, watching the sky. "You're a good ninja, even if you are a little goofy."

"Goofy?" Obito makes a face. "Who says I'm goofy?"

"Everyone does," Rin says. It hurts Obito's feelings but Rin touches his hand.

"I like that you're goofy," Rin says. She's leaning close, and Obito can feel his heart thudding in his chest.

"Rin," Obito says. A drop of sweat forms at his brow. "Rin, I-"

"Kakashi!" Rin says. She jumps up from the swing, smiling. "Kakashi, what are you doing here?"

Obito sags. Of course.

 

*****

 

Obito is in the yard, moping a little and watching his sisters weave wreathes in the grass, when Minato knocks on the door.

"Uchiha Akio," Minato says, and he offers his father a stiff bow. "May I have a word?"

 

*****

 

Dinner is a tense one, his sisters demurely holding their chopsticks while their father sits with his jaw tight, the soggy rice sinking in their bowls. Obito slinks back, watching furtively as Minato smiles and eats, seemingly oblivious to the tight-lipped stares around him.

"This is very good!" Minato says. He smiles at Obito, fondly. "Perhaps someday I should invite you all to my place for dinner - Kushina would love to have the company."

"Thank you, but no," his father says. He sets down his chopsticks. "Ever since Natsumi died, the children have had to suffer through my own cooking. They have learned to like it. I do not wish to impose."

"No, no, it would not be imposing at all!" Minato says. Obito slinks back a little further down the chair.

Obito does the dishes while his sisters disappear into their rooms, and though the water in the faucet is running, he can overhear snippets of his father and Minato's conversation.

"He's worn those goggles ever since his mother died." His father's voice carries from the other room. "I told him it was foolish, but he was just a child. I did not see the harm in indulging him a little."

"I see." Minato's voice floats lighter past the bamboo walls; Obito has to strain to hear. "There is something I've been meaning to discuss," Minato says. "I do not wish to worry you, Akio-san. But your son is having a difficult time."

"What?" his father says. Obito can almost see the expression on his father's face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the shinobi life doesn't really suit him," Minato says. "I know the Uchiha is a proud clan, and I know your lifeblood rests on shinobi way. However, I think for Obito's sake, we must think what's best for him."

Obito feels his chest tighten. He stares at the plate in his hands.

"What is the meaning of this?" his father says. Obito can hear the anger in his voice. "How dare you presume to know my child?"

"You said so yourself, your child is grieving," Minato says. "Grief is a powerful thing, Akio-san. It may even be impeding his Sharingan--"

"Enough!" his father says. Obito startles, fumbling with the bowl. "How dare you come into my house, coming with all these false assumptions! You know nothing about my family. Nothing," his father says. There is a measured silence; Obito can almost picture his sensei peering into his father's eyes.

"Your wife was blinded, was she not?" Minato's voice is quiet. Obito can hear footsteps across the room.

"Get out," his father says.

Obito waits; there is a sound, and he hears Minato leave, the rice-paper door sliding against the wall.

 

****

 

The compound is quiet that night. Obito walks into the bedroom, quietly pushing open the door.

"Is it true?" his father asks. He is sitting in the dark, his back hunched over his knees. "Obito?"

Obito waits an uncomfortable minute, then pulls off his goggles. "Yeah," Obito says. He plays with the rubber straps, absently.

His father doesn't say anything. Heavily his father shifts on the bed, motioning for Obito to step forward.

"Things have been hard since your mother died," his father says, finally. "I was foolish to think it did not affect you, as well. Foolish," his father says again. "If only you would get your Sharingan. Then I would not have to worry about you."

Obito watches as his father stares at his hands. They are calloused and tanned, and he can see the thick heavy scars across the knuckles. He remembers how his mother's hands used to look, no less scarred and no less calloused, but so much softer than his father's. Outside, the leaves rustle, and in the dark Obito can just make out the shape of the Uchiha crest hanging against the wall.

"I can't," Obito says, finally. "Dad. I can't do it. It's just too hard. Maybe I'm just not an Uchiha," Obito says.

His father stares at him for a long moment. Then he rears up and smacks Obito across the face.

Obito staggers back, his hand flying up to his cheek. His father glares.

"Do not say that again," his father says.

Obito feels ashamed.

 

*****

 

Obito sits in his room and remembers the other day on the swings, how Kakashi stood with that smug superior look, and how Obito wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into his face.

_"Go ahead and train," Obito said. "No one wants you here."_

_Rin shot him a look. "Obito be nice," Rin said. She walked over to Kakashi, chatting happily._

_"Teme!" Obito said. He took a stance and pointed, shaking with anger. "You think you're so great! Well I'll show you!" And Obito burst toward him._

_Kakashi dodged effortlessly, shifting his body just enough to send Obito sprawling forward._

_"It is as to be expected," Kakashi said. "A poor attempt from a crybaby ninja coasting on the Uchiha name."_

Obito curls up on his side, his eyes starting to water behind his goggles.

 

****

 

In the rock quarry just outside the Kannabi bridge, just moments after Rin finished transplanting the Sharingan into Kakashi's eye, Obito could feel Rin grip his hand.

"Stupid," Rin says. She grips his hand harder, crying. "Stupid, stupid."

"Oi," Obito says. His voice is weak from the strain. "Don't...don't cry."

Above them, he could hear Kakashi fighting. Weakly, Obito reaches out to touch Rin's face.

"I was never cut out for this," Obito says. "I just...I just wanted to protect you."

He feels her tears slip between his fingers; her cheek feels cool and soft under his palm.

 

*****

 

It is raining when they bury him, the members of the Uchiha clan solemnly flanking his grave. His father says nothing when Kakashi shows up at the funeral, good eye uncovered with his son's Sharingan spinning beneath his forehead protector. The Sharingan reads chakra, after all, but his father could sense Obito's chakra even if he were blind.

Quietly, his sisters toss the wreath of flowers into the ground, the petals glistening in the cold spring air.


	3. Home

She is the only one who's kind to him. Even when she ignores him, tagging alongside Kakashi and making Obito the awkward third wheel. She laughs and smiles and touches Kakashi on the arm, and when she notices Obito sulking a few paces behind her, she stops and runs beside him, gripping Obito by the hand and pulling him forward.

"You're gonna get left behind, dummy. Stop walking so slow!"

Her hand is warm and good and Obito feels himself start to blush. "Does he have to be here?" Obito says. Rin laughs at him.

"He's our friend. Of course he does."

"He doesn't have to," Obito says, but Rin is already distracted, catching the battered sign of a goofy photobooth in front of the drugstore.

She insists on taking a group picture. "Why?" Kakashi says, and Obito just stands and glares at him while Rin laughs and shakes her head.

"Because I want something to remember us by," she says, and she wraps her arms around both of their shoulders, Kakashi and Obito, bringing them close and smiling broadly into the camera.

The picture that comes out is telling: Kakashi bored and Obito nervous, and Rin smiling, broad and wide.

 

*****

 

There is a carnival in town. All day, Obito bounces from one foot to the other, working up the nerve to ask her; it's only when Rin catches him by surprise - "Obito! There's a carnival, do you want to come?" - that Obito manages to nod stupidly and let her take him by the hand, bodily dragging him toward the village center.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Rin asks. Around them, the night is warm and paper lanterns glow in all different colors, and Rin sucks on a piece of candy, smiling at him.

They are selling balloons in the street corner. Obito purchases one, fully intending to give it to her, when he sees it: Rin waving and calling out to Kakashi, fully forgetting that she came with him.

He stands, heart crushed and the balloon in his hand. Around him, the crowd moves past him quietly, water passing over a darkened stone.

It's nighttime when he walks back onto the training fields, planning to vent out his frustrations with katons and throwing shuriken, when he sees her sitting on a workbench, shoulders hunched and crying. "Rin?"

She looks up. Moonlight falls on her face and he can see her eyes are puffy, streaks of tears smearing the sides of her face and dripping down her chin.

"I tried to tell him," Rin says, and her chin wobbles. "I tried to tell him, but he ignored me. He doesn't even know I exist, Obito!" Rin says, and she starts to cry again.

Obito watches her, sadly. Of course. Kakashi was a lot of things - a genius, cool and talented and better looking than him - but while all the girls threw themselves at him, Kakashi steadfastly ignored them, proclaiming bluntly that shinobi were tools and girls were a waste of his time.

Rin cries and Obito sets down his weapons and hugs her, letting her bury her face into his shoulder. "I've always loved him," Rin says. She sits up from his shoulder, wiping her eyes. "I thought if we were teammates, we would get closer. But he doesn't even know I exist," Rin says. Obito hands her a tissue and she blows her nose, sniffing pathetically.

They sit together for a moment, neither of them saying anything. It hurts him to see her so sad, and all at once he just wants to run up and punch Kakashi in his stupid face, to yell at him and tell him to look at her! Look at Rin, the most beautiful girl int he world, and you're treating her like worthless trash!

His hands clench, caught up in the fury of his inner monologue, when Rin looks up at him again, hiccuping and blinking back tears. "Can I ask you something, Obito?" Rin asks. "And you'll promise me you'll tell me the truth?"

"Yeah," Obito says. "Of course." She looks down at her hands, the damp tissue twisting and shredding in her fingers.

"Am I pretty?" Rin says. She looks up at him. Her face is blotchy and her nose is red and running, and large wet patches stain the sides of her cheeks.

He takes another tissue and blots her eyes, then gently brushes back a strand of her hair. "You're beautiful," Obito says, and Rin smiles and starts crying again, hunching her shoulders and hiccuping, quietly.

"Thanks, Obito," Rin says. "You're a really good friend," and Obito just sits and nods and tries to swallow the knot in his throat.

"Want me to beat him up for you?" Obito says, finally, and Rin laughs, resting her head on his shoulder and giggling. "No, Rin, I can fight dirty! I can put laxatives in his lunch first. Seriously."

Rin laughs again, and Obito smiles, holding her hand.


	4. Strike

A strike. Obito went flying, his goggles spinning from the force of Kakashi's blow.

"Are you done?" Kakashi said. He sounded bored and Obito reared up on his haunches, hands clenching into fists. "Dammit," Obito said, and he took a stance.

"Again!" Obito said, and Kakashi lunged. A kick to the gut. One square fist, slamming into his side.

"Now are you done?" Kakashi said.

"Of course not!" Obito said.

The blow whacked him across his face. He moved and coughed, then realized he tasted blood.

"This is getting boring," Kakashi said, as Obito stumbled, one knee hitting the ground. "Obito. Give it up. You'll never be able to take me. Maybe you should spar with Rin instead."

Obito clutched his side. His insides hurt. He glared, his vision hazy through his goggles.

"No," Obito said. "I'm not done. I'll fight you, Kakashi." But Kakashi sniffed and evidently had had enough, because he wiped his hands against the seat of his pants and left the training ring. "Kakashi!"

But Kakashi turned his back to him, slinging a towel over his shoulder.


	5. Blanket

They're lying down for the night, putting out their bed rolls and setting up their camp. Beside them, Kakashi is sleeping upright with a blanket draped over his shoulders - Rin's blanket - after he insisted that lying down wasn't right for shinobi, and coolly proclaimed he would sleep upright, if only to guard the others.

"What's wrong?" Rin says, because evidently Obito's been staring daggers at the back of Kakashi's head, and Rin had probably noticed. Obito scowled and silently wished he had his sharingan. Of course stupid Kakashi forgot his blanket, but rather than admitting it, he just smirked and said Shinobi Rule 21 is to always sleep with one eye open. It made him look cool and Obito hated him for that, even moreso that Rin just smiled and blushed and gave him her extra blanket. "You can have it, if you want," Kakashi says. He sounds bored, like he always does. "Blankets would just impede my movements."

"I'll impede your movements," Obito says.

"I'd like to see you try."

"Hey, hey," Rin says. "Kakashi didn't pack any blankets. You're already sleeping with one," Rin says.

"That's not the point," Obito says.

"Well then what is the point?" Rin says. Obito glowers.

"It's just--" and he looks at Kakashi again. "I don't know! It's just not fair."

"Kakashi forgot," Rin says. "He's trying to save face. Just let it be."

"But Rin--"

"Stop it," Rin says. "You're always acting this way, picking fights for no good reason! I'm getting sick of it," Rin says, and it's like a punch to the gut.

"Sorry, Rin," Obito says, finally, and he turns over in his bedroll.

It's cold. Behind him, he can hear Rin shivering, pulling a scrap of blanket around her shoulders.

He wraps his blanket around her before she can say anything, then moves and curls up against the cold ground.

"Obito?"

"I'm fine."

He draws his knees up to his chin, shivering under his thin jacket.

"Obito, you don't have to. I already have another blanket--"

"Yeah, the thin one. Because Kakashi is a stupid jerk."

Rin bites back a laugh, and it makes Obito relax a little bit. He fiddles with his goggles, turning them over in his hands.

"I'm sorry I got so mad," Obito says. "It's just....your blanket is on him, and he probably doesn't even appreciate it, and it probably still smells like you, and..."

"You're so weird," Rin says. "Come here."

Obito reddens. "Why?" Obito says.

"Just come here," Rin says again, and she pulls him closer.

They huddle together under both blankets, Obito and Rin, and there's nothing unusual about it, pressing together for warmth. It's the first rule in survival basics, and it's only a moment until he relaxes under her palm.


	6. Rise and Fall

The first time Obito has an erection, he's sitting in class: their sensei is writing on the chalk board and Obito doesn't know exactly what's happening, except his penis is hard and it's strange to him, and he bats it back and forth, puzzled.

It's only after a few moments of bewildered exploration that Obito realizes Kakashi is watching him. He has the same blank bored expression on his face he always has, and when Obito glances up, Kakashi just shakes his head and turns around.

 

*****

 

Puberty is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

His voice cracks. He's awkward and clumsy but now he's all thin legs and no torso and his penis seems to have a mind of its own.

He has erections at the most inopportune times: during the class photo where they're making Obito stand in front; during a training session with a particularly strong breeze and too-tight gym shorts. But he starts having them the most when he's looking at Rin, and pretty soon he's used to carrying large books and backpacks to hide his lap.

Rin never notices, and Obito is thankful she never questions why he always seems to be hefting large bags of groceries whenever he's around her.

 

*****

 

She is his best friend. He likes to think the feeling is mutual, and he pretty sure it is, because she smiles and laughs and grips his hand, and she's grinning wide when she tells him he's like a brother to her, closer than family. She cheers him up and he makes her laugh, and they enjoy each other's company, even if half the time she's gushing about other boys who are better than him.

He masturbates to her photograph, because he's lonely and impulsive and that's the only thing he can get off to.

His breathing is harsh, ragged, as he fists himself. Already the picture frame is starting to fog up, but Obito keeps at it anyway, cheek pressed to the glass and straining against his hand. They had taken a team photo just a few days before: Rin had insisted, dragging them all to the photobooth and smiling, widely. She had her arms around both him and Kakashi, and when the camera blinked, she pulled them all close; he could smell the shampoo in her hair.

 _Rin._ His penis swells and Obito strains against his hand, the picture frame digging into his cheek. Earlier that day, Obito had lost yet another match. This time, Kakashi was the one to deal the finishing blows, the sharp end of a tanto blade slicing against the meat of his arm. After the match, he slunk behind the bleachers at the training grounds, nursing the cut on his arm when Rin came up to sit beside him.

"Let me see," Rin had said, and Obito lowered the ice pack to show her: the whole lower part of his face was bruised, the tender swell of his lower lip throbbing painfully. Rin frowned and dug through her medical pack, pulling out antiseptic and gauze and reaching up to gently daub at his wounds.

Obito didn't say anything. He didn't know why she was still sitting with him, even though he was pretty sure he was the laughing stock of the entire shinobi class.

He hated it. Heat rose to his cheeks and he was intensely aware of how close Rin was sitting, how her small fingers curled around the tender bones of his wrist.

"It wasn't that bad," Rin said, because she was a girl and girls could read minds, and even though he liked that she was spending time with him, he didn't like that it was because she felt sorry for him. "Do you want me to stitch that up?"

She took his arm again, and dumbly Obito sat beside her. She opened her pack and pulled out a straight suture, holding his arm against her lap.

"You need to tell me when something's wrong."

He's close to coming. His penis swells and Obito strains against his hand, the picture frame digging into his cheek. Quickly he grabs a fistful of tissues and covers the head of his penis when he comes, pleasure twitching, jets of cloudy fluid spurting into his hand.

A secret:

Obito sleeps with a pillow balled up under his face. He hugs it and pretends it's Rin. After he jerks off, he wipes his hands and lies back on the bed, hugging the pillow and pretending that he is cuddling her.

 

*****

 

The Zetsus aren't exactly known for their privacy, but they're not paying attention to him now, and Obito is fairly certain they're asleep. The Zetsu equivalent of sleep, at the least.

He's used to masturbating with his right hand, but because it's bound and bandaged Obito has to awkwardly stroke himself with his left. It's difficult; the cast digs into the side of his thigh and when he tries to strain upwards, the stitches in his hip and right arm pop, and his left hand isn't at the angle he's used to; he has to curve his arm around, trying to get the same pressure and the same feel, but it's not the same and his breathing tightens, desperate to get off.

He's about to come when he hears the Zetsus ambling behind the tree. "Hey, Tobi!" they call, and Obito scrambles, except that he's in a cast and his right arm is bandaged, and he can't quite hide his exposed wilting cock fast enough. "Oooh! What's that? What are you doing?"

"Are you taking a dump?"

"None of your business!" Obito says, but the Zetsus are staring at him, curiously.

What begins is a long, awkward conversation about masturbation and how touching yourself can feel good, except Obito is embarrassed and he doesn't want to keep answering their questions; he soldiers on, though, because he knows if he doesn't, they'd probably sit down in front of him and ask to watch.

(The Zetsus don't judge though, they're just curious, and he gets comfortable enough about the subject to speak freely about it. It isn't until one of the Zetsus asks the obvious - "How come you can't just put it inside her?" - that Obito stops and sputters and says that's enough of those questions, for now.)

 

******

 

He fantasizes about their reunion.

She would hug him. She would run up to him and throw her arms around him, and the weight of her momentum would make him lose his balance. She would cry and laugh and nuzzle her head against him because _she thought he was dead_ , and he would muster up the courage to tell her, to man up and tell her exactly how it is he feels.

He wonders what it would be like to kiss her. Her lips look soft. Once, she had dropped a stick of cherry chapstick on the training grounds, which Obito had furtively picked up and snuck into his pocket. Experimentally he rubbed a little on his hand and decided that it felt goopy and a little sticky. But he still glanced behind him and dropped a quick kiss on his wrist, to see what it would feel like.

He decided it felt nice. He pressed his lips together, relishing the feel.

 

*****

 

The Zetsus ask, "So how come you love her so much, anyway?" and Obito struggles to explain.

How could he explain it? How good it is, that she's nice to him. That she smiles and laughs and doesn't mind spending time with him. Even when he feels stupid and lonely, she always manages to find him, sitting at the bench beside him and rubbing his shoulder.

"It's because you need someone to practice on, right?" Obito said once, because he was sulking and upset and he was sick of everybody feeling sorry for him.

"Yeah," Rin said. "It is." And Obito sulked even more, before Rin giggled and nudged at his shoulder.

"You make me a really good medic," Rin said, and Obito blushed, because at least he was good for something, for once. She smiled at him and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, because maybe then she would look at him. Maybe then she would see.

But he didn't do anything. Instead, he stared at his hands. There was dirt under his fingernails and his knuckles were scratched and bruised.

"Hey," Rin said. "What is it? I can't read your mind. Tell me, what's wrong?"

At the time, he couldn't say anything. Couldn't tell her that all he wanted to do was sink into her chest, that just sitting next to her made everything go away.

 

****

 

This is how it would be if Obito had escaped:

Rin yells at him for an hour straight as Obito limps and leans on her, the injuries from the boulder keeping him from walking, properly. "How could you be so stupid? You could have died! What were you thinking! You need to be more careful!"

Obito doesn't say anything, just grins up at her from against her shoulder, and Rin scowls and hefts his weight onto her back, Kakashi following them, quietly. He is delirious from fatigue and pain and the words just tumble out.

"I love you," Obito says, and Rin just glances at him, shocked.

"Stupid," Rin says, "You've lost a lot of blood," and she pulls him closer.

 

*****

 

Rin carries on as if Obito had never said anything, and it's not until the war is over that things get really strange. She avoids him. Weeks pass and Obito is miserable. How stupid could he be?

But then one day Rin inexplicably turns around. She shows up at his house, a grocery bag of snacks and magazines in her hand, and she smiles broadly when he limps on crutches and opens the door.

"You're my best friend," Rin says simply, and she hands him the grocery bag. "I guess I wouldn't mind if you were my boyfriend." Obito just gapes and stares and stammers stupidly when Rin smiles, shyly.

Later, Obito finds out Kakashi had spent the last few weeks guilt-tripping her to give him a chance.

 

*****

 

They kiss in the park Obito used to hide in whenever he got overwhelmed with how bad he was. It's the same bench Rin had wrapped Obito's hand.

"It's wet," Rin says. She giggles and wrinkles her nose and Obito blushes and wrings his hands in his lap. "Try again?"

"O-okay!" and he musters the courage to barrel forward, almost head-butting her in his zeal to kiss her properly.

It doesn't work. Rin giggles and laughs and Obito's ears turn bright red, but she smiles at him and takes his hand.

When his hard-on flares out from nowhere, Obito's not fast enough to hide it. Rin stares at his lap, eyes wide.

"I'm sorry! It just happens! Wait, don't look--"

"Can I see?" Rin says, and Obito gapes at her for a full minute before nodding, stupidly.

"I, uh. Yeah. I guess..."

He's never run faster to get anywhere, before.

 

*****

 

As it turns out, there are thousands of ways to misuse the sharingan, much to his elder's chagrin.

"Ack! Obito! What are you doing?"

He doesn't have to ask to know what she's seeing: him kneeling determinedly between her legs, a pair of blood red eyes staring up at hers.

"I want to make sure you come," Obito says, and his feelings are a little hurt when Rin starts to laugh at him.

"Come here," Rin says, and Obito just looks at her doubtfully when she motions up at him, "No, dummy, I said _come here_."

He crawls up on her bare stomach before resting his body against her, and Rin giggles and fluffs his hair, cupping his face, fondly.

"The sharingan is really freaky up close."

"You think so?" Obito says, and Rin smiles and kisses him, stroking his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

"Can you just...turn it off?"

"But I can't get you to come without it," Obito says, and Rin shakes her head, smiling at him.

"It's okay," Rin says, and she bites her lip, grinning. "Maybe you'll just have to practice."

His face splits into a smile and she all but tackles him, kissing and hugging him against her shoulder.

 

*****

 

They're kissing on the couch when Rin whispers in his ear.

"I have condoms in my medical bag," Rin says. Her face is flushed, red. "Do you want to try?"

She doesn't have to specify what she's talking about. Obito blushes and nods.

"Are you sure?" he says. "Rin?"

She nods, then smiles, shyly.

"Yeah."

He brightens. She laughs and he pulls her into his arms.

 

*****

 

He kisses her and she's smiling. He can feel the curve of her mouth against his face, and Obito opens his eyes to see her staring back at him. They're lying on their sides, facing each other. The bed groans and creaks in protest as Obito reaches for her, one heavy hand palming the side of her face. They kiss again and he smiles, breaking only to drop small kisses against her lips and the corners of her eyes.

He is happy just to hold her. She feels warm and good and he smiles broadly when she nuzzles her face against his chest, her body fitted against his. But then the kiss deepens and her legs wrap around his waist, and she's grinding her pelvis against him, feels her strain and groan and rub against his hardness, until she's panting into his mouth. They break again and she's looking up at him, as if asking him with her eyes.

She pulls off her shirt with one sure motion, and he's rolling her onto her back. She's panting and her face is red, and Obito sees how her nipples harden into small stiff peaks. He kisses her jaw and neck and rolls her nipples under his thumbs, making her gasp and writhe and grind her pelvis harder against him.

When he tries to enter her, she squirms away from him. The head of his cock enters her and it feels so good, but Rin's eyes are squeezed shut and she's breathing hard from her nose, and Obito's erection wilts when he realizes that he's hurting her. "Rin?"

"It's okay." There are tears in her voice. "Just do it."

" _Rin._ " He pulls out and Rin starts to cry, fat tears rolling down the sides of her face. "Oh, Rin."

"I'm sorry," Rin says. He gathers her close and she cries into his shoulder.

 

*****

 

It takes a full month before they're able to lose their virginity.

First it's one careful finger, probing her entrance. He uses his sharingan this time and Rin doesn't stop him, doesn't seem to notice because her eyes are squeezed shut, shaking a little at the intrusion. After a few times she's used to his fingers and tongue and pretty soon she's able to come when he fingers her. It's only then that they try again, slowly, sharingan on and watching her face for even the smallest flicker of pain.

There isn't any. He carefully slides up inside her.

"Rin?" He peers down at her, overwhelmed with how good she feels and shaking with effort not to thrust too soon.

She opens her eyes and nods.

He gives her one small, experimental thrust, and her mouth pops open. He stops, afraid he's hurt her.

"Do that again," Rin says, and her lips tug into a smile.

He isn't very good, the first time. The first time is an uncoordinated jumble of arms and legs and slapping, sloppy thrusts. But she's wet and good and it's all he can do from babbling how happy he is when he comes inside her.

"Silly," Rin says, and she reaches up to cup his face.

He's never been happier than at this moment. She smiles and her eyes are soft when she reaches out to trace a soft line down the side of his cheek. The failures of his life - emptiness, uncertainty. Loneliness and an aching need for approval - begin to crack and fall away, the surface of scars washing out to colorless marks, because he knows she loves him, too.

 

*****

 

It doesn't happen this way.

There are a lot of things Obito wonders about. In the darkness of Madara's cave, Obito stares up at the ceiling and wonders what it would feel like. What it would feel like to hold her, to have her lie against his chest and bury his nose into her hair.

He finds out, several months later: her body, limp and unmoving. Her hair, sticky and matted with warm old blood.

 

******

 

Deidara is drunk. It is the first time Obito has seen his supposed partner this way: face red, slightly slurring his words, Deidara laughs and throws marble-sized bombs that burst like firecrackers in the small tavern. If Deidara were even the least bit sober, Obito would shake his head and implore _Deidara-sempai_ to please watch where he's throwing things, they could _hurt_ someone! But Deidara is drunk and Obito drops the act, watching his partner with hooded eyes.

Around him, people are laughing. Civilians are carousing and rough-housing, and the sounds of laughter gather and rise like waves. Deidara has disappeared and Obito is alone now, watching with a predatory stillness as the men in the tavern laugh, loudly.

There are whores standing outside the tavern, leaning suggestively and soliciting the patrons of the bar. Their faces are painted garish, bright colors, layers of heavy make-up caked in the small lines of leather skin.

He has never touched a woman. In the early years after Rin's death, he had been angry and disgusted with his younger self, who openly fantasized about her as if she were something disposable. A hole for his perverted pleasure. At the time, it had made him angry and ashamed.

But that was then, and the years that pass have all but numbed him completely to the goings-on of normal men. Pain. Love. Hurt. Fear. It is all inconsequential to him. Even Rin's death is a strangely divorced from the rest of himself, that wounded, worried part of himself an unnecessary distraction.

"What's with the mask?" someone says, and Obito looks up, sees the woman leaning against his table.

He glances at the clock. It is well past midnight, and Obito does not need to sleep. It is one of the few advantages of having Hashirama's cells implanted in his body, which lets him move without eating or sleeping for days on end. He is grateful for this: the rare times his human half needs rest, he is plagued with nightmares, broken bodies and dead gray eyes.

The woman is leaning forward, jutting the tops of her breasts in full view of his gaze. Normally he would not even entertain the thought of doing something so pointless. Sex doesn't interest him. Though he would use his body as a tool if the situation so called for it, sex in and of itself is useless to him.

But the hour is late, and there is nothing for him to do but wait for Deidara and stew in his thoughts. He has a few hours to kill, and he would be lying to himself to say he isn't at least a little bit curious.

He comes to a decision. He reaches for a satchel of coins.

"Now, that's more like it," the prostitute says. Her teeth are yellow when she grins.

 

******

 

The clock ticks. In the darkness, he stands motionless; she kneels in front of him on her knees. He's limp but she's doing her best, bobbing her head and swallowing, obscenely.

He feels nothing. Not even as he feels her massaging his flaccid cock, running her thumb under the wilted underside of his glans before gamely sucking him again.

What is he doing? Around him, moonlight puddles like spilled milk, and Obito pushes her back.

"What?" The prostitute looks up at him, frustrated.

"That is enough," Obito says, and he zips up his clothes. "Your money is on the dresser. I do not require anything further."

"But you didn't get off."

His jaw tightens. He strides across the room, pulling open his bag.

"Look," the prostitute says, standing. "I can't read your mind. You need to tell me what's wrong."

Obito stops.

"What did you say to me?" Obito says. The prostitute blinks, uncertainly.

"I said, you need to tell me what you like. If I'm doing something wrong--"

"Get out," Obito says.

"Wait, what?"

"Leave," Obito says. " _Now._ "

And the prostitute stares at him one long moment, then snatches up the satchel of coins, pulling on her clothes.

 

*****

 

The day Kakashi beat him, he was humiliated. It wasn't enough that he lost the match. They jeered at him, and Obito knew, as he always did, that he was an outsider, that he didn't belong.

He was sitting at the edge of the river when Rin came out from nowhere. Wordlessly, she sat beside him, not saying anything and waiting for him to speak.

"I'm a failure," Obito said, finally. He looked at his hands; bruised knuckles, the scrap of bandage tied around his arm. "They're all right. I shouldn't even be here."

Across from them, the setting sun was a blaze of colors. Burnt out reds and bright orange streaks turning in every direction. "That's not true," Rin said and the streak of golden light caught her face. The wind rose, and she moved a hand to push back her hair. "For what it's worth, I'm glad that you're here."

He looked up at her. She was looking out into the horizon, hair stirring in the soft breeze.

Nohara Rin. The only person who was kind to him. The only one who cared if he was there or gone.

Eyes filled with a warmth he couldn't explain, and Obito hunched into himself, pulling his goggles down and pulling his knees to his chest. Wordlessly, Rin rubbed soothing circles against his back until he leaned against her, squeezing his eyes.

Now, years later, he sits alone in the dark, hands clenching into fists. There is a tightness to his neck and shoulders and a burning behind his good eye.

There is a scar on his left arm from when Rin had stitched him, years ago. The scar is raised and jagged, and quietly he runs his fingers over the pearly bump, remembering. Gentle fingers curling around his wrist, a soft halo of blue chakra, healing him. A soothing warmth easing the pain.

In the next room, Deidara is snoring. Quietly, Obito adjusts his mask and looks out the window, at the bones of naked trees, and at the darkness that's streaked with the broken light of a solitary moon.

 

*****

 _Mirror on the wall, here we are again._  
 _Through my rise and fall_  
 _You've been my only friend._  
_

end.


	7. Meteors

1.

He tosses the sack on the table. Councilors startle, eyes wide and jumping from their seats, as the bag opens and one of the heads starts to roll.

"I have killed them," Obito says. "All of them. You will find that I have disposed of all of your problems."

Obito dumps the heads onto the table without preamble with a sickening thump, and the heads roll unevenly, matted hair and loose gray skin catching on the smooth wood of the table.

The councilors look amongst themselves and Yagura stares back at him, the heads of the eight conspirators rolling obscenely on the table. They are roughly the size of bowling balls and just about as heavy. Fibers of severed nerves and ragged muscle hang from vertebrae like raw meat on a leg of ham, and their eyes are open, opaque. To Obito's amusement, the looks on the faces of the councilors are exactly the same: the same muted horror, the same widening of the whites of the eyes.

"Why?" Yagura says. He has the face of a child but the mind of a man, watching Obito distrustfully. "You have no alliance with the shinobi of the mist. Why go through all these lengths to catch my attention?"

"Because we can be of use to each other," Obito says. Yagura's eyes narrow.

It is a tactical decision, first and foremost: the Akatsuki war machine needed seed money, and the meager offerings from petty jobs aren't enough to stock the war chest that Obito desired. The most expedient way would be to offer his unique set of services, and what better customer was there than a village whose leadership was in constant flux and whose populace was torn in the midst of a civil war?

Then there is the fact that Yagura is a jinchuuriki, an obvious advantage. It is the proverbial killing of two birds with one stone, shoring up the war chest and garnering a tailed beast in the process. That the Blood Mist was also most certainly responsible Rin's death is only an added benefit, and while Obito knows the costs of involving himself in unnecessary conflict, the thought of exacting revenge proves too tempting to refuse.

"Money?" Yagura's advisers sneer. "All you want is money?"

"Of course," Obito says. "Why else would I offer you my services? And I must advise you," Obito says. "You'll find that no one else has this particular skill set. You would be wise to take advantage."

He is being insolent, but Obito knows that. Among the kiri nin, there can be no deals without an element of bravado and arrogant self-aggrandizing. There is a ripple among the crowd. Obito waits patiently for the jinchuuriki to respond.

"And why should I not kill you here, as a murderer of the shinobi of the mist?" Yagura says. "These are our problems. Our dissenters. Why should I let an outsider help?"

"Because I have done what you and your top men could not do," Obito says. "In the span of a few short days, I have wiped out the leaders of their precious resistance. Consider this my gift. I just want you to know that I am available, should you once again require my services."

"How thoughtful," Yagura says, dryly. Obito gives him a little bow, then turns, pulling up the hood of his cloak.

"Wait," Yagura says, and Obito turns.

"There are still more men," Yagura says.

"As I said," Obito says, smoothly. "Should you require further assistance, I will be happy to help. For a small fee, of course."

Yagura is watching him. There is a sharpness to Yagura's eyes that Obito finds easy to manipulate, and Obito waits as Yagura bends an ear to an advisor, who whispers to him, carefully.

"Twelve days," Yagura says. "You have twelve days to deal with the threat. Do as we ask, and we will reward you handsomely. But fail to do so, and you will pay with your life. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Obito says, and Yagura gives him a thin-lipped smile.

 

*****

 

The place where Rin died lies just to the east, a few hours by foot along the outskirts of Kirigakure. There, craggy rocks jut out as if half-hewn from the haggard cliff face of mountains, an empty expanse, as a thick fog settles with the stinging cold. This is where the rebels are now, Yagura's dissenters, and when Obito enters there's nothing but a rush of blurred colors and white noise, and the grayscale of dark that's upended with the sudden starburst of blood.

"Your bloodline limit unneves me," Yagura says, even after Obito keeps his sharingan carefully hidden behind his mask. "What will keep you from turning against me?"

Obito turns. The genocide against bloodline limits was the result of a botched assassination attempt, a bloodline limit shinobi breaking into the palace compound and very near killing the Mizukage in the process. Already a paranoid man, Yagura reacted by walling himself off in his palace, letting no one come within ten paces of him and choosing to sit flanked by weapons and guards, before raining down holy terror and setting in motion the bloodline purges.

But it isn't surprising: jinchuuriki are notoriously unstable, and Obito knows it is this paranoia that makes him very easy to manipulate. But first is the matter of trust and Obito if nothing is a stickler for details.

"I do not desire the Bloody Mist," Obito says. "You will find no safer comrade than I."

Obito watches silently as Yagura nods, and quietly layers a thin genjutsu over his words. Unlike the kyuubi, control of the Mizukage is as easy as controlling any other man, using genjutsu suggestions and subtle manipulation. Controlling the kyuubi was like trying to restrain a wild dog on a fraying leash, and Obito is grateful that the Mizukage is relatively easier.

"Perhaps there are other people you should be worried about," Obito says, and Yagura's head snaps forward, paranoia edging the corners of his eyes.

The next spate of executions do not surprise anyone: Yagura has always been a ruthless man, despite the youthfulness of his boyish looks, and when he one day orders the execution of all his advisors, no one so much as bats an eye.

Obito watches. From the sidelines, he watches as Yagura orders the finishing blows, killing the five councilors who witnessed Obito's arrival in the first place. Bodies roll, blood spurting from wounds in their chests, and quietly Obito fingers the bandage in his pocket, saying nothing and watching the thick syrup of blood pooling on the marble floor.

 

******

 

2.

He's had the bandage for as long as he can remember: old and frayed, the once pristine whiteness is now tinged with dirt and old blood, the tough canvas cloth softened through years of repeated rubbing between calloused thumbs and forefingers.

He doesn't know why he keeps it. It serves no purpose other than the sentimental reminder of a time when Rin had bandaged up his hand. But he was young then, and foolish, and at the time it seemed to be of utmost importance, saving that scrap of bandage and keeping it in his pocket like a talisman, a charm to keep everything else at bay.

He keeps it now, stuffed deep inside his left-hand pocket. Quietly he fingers the rough cloth and looks outward, rubbing the material between the pads of his thumb and index finger. It is more out of habit than anything else; he watches the fog roll and how the thin streaks of watery sunlight crest the horizon, before stuffing the bandage back in his pocket. He turns quietly, fixing his mask and pulling on the hood of his cloak.

The day Rin had bandaged his hand, Obito had cut his hand during a sparring session with Kakashi: he had just narrowly missed the trajectory of a flying shuriken, blocking it with his palm and ducking to the side.

"What did you do?" Rin said, and she grabbed Obito by the arm before he could say anything, staring at the huge cut on his left hand.

They sat on the training bench, Rin holding his hand in her lap and wrapping his wound with white bandages. At the time, Obito was red-faced and embarrassed, but Rin taped the bandages expertly and gave his hand a satisfied squeeze.

"You shouldn't pretend when you get hurt," Rin said.

And then, "Remember that I'm watching you."

He kept the bandage on for two days before Kakashi pointed out his dressings were getting soiled, they needed to be changed, and it wasn't until Kakashi left that Obito discreetly fished out the used bandages from the trash, peeling back the sticky gauze and the parts that were saturated with blood.

He cut the clean parts off, which was still long enough to loop around his hand twice, and he stuffed it in his pockets. Rin had given it to him. Some men carried photos and others carried locks of their sweetheart's hair, but Obito was happy enough to have this memento, a reminder that Rin actually cared about him.

Now he fingers the piece of fabric in his pocket, rolling it between his thumb and index finger and frowning a little at his handiwork: Yagura's top advisor, mutilated, neck snapped and contusions blooming over his chest, while Yagura himself slowly comes back to consciousness.

His scar hurts, but Obito ignores it, kneeling beside Yagura and pulling him up from the ground.

"What...what happened?" Yagura says. Obito bows.

"You killed him," Obito says.

"W-what?"

"I tried to stop you," Obito says, conversationally. "But you could not be reasoned with."

Yagura's eyes widen.

It is not enough to control a man. They must be broken, their spirit and will trampled down until they can be molded like mounds of clay. Already Yagura is remembering the blackouts; periods of time where he cannot remember. A normal man will stay forever in his genjutsu but Yagura is a jinchuuriki. He will soon realize just how much he is being controlled.

"I didn't," Yagura says. He slowly sinks to his knees. "I couldn't. He was my best friend--"

"Look at your hands," Obito says, and Yagura sees them: the desperate scratch marks, how his adviser had clawed at him, inflicting those wounds. "Is the feeling returning to your fingers?"

And Yagura looks at him, horror-struck.

It does not take much. Yagura's mind breaks, snapping under the weight of his horror and guilt, and quietly Obito steps forward and tips Yagura's head back. He plies a thin layer of genjutsu and is pleased to see how his eyes roll back into the sockets, the tension in his body dissipating and going slack. Yagura's body is a house with its walls collapsed on itself, brittle bones and taut skin, and soon enough the hairline fracture of Yagura's fragile mental state gives way and weakens, until everything opens, the cave of Yagura's mind gaping like a torn out eye.

Just beneath the surface, Obito can see Yagura's chakra dampen, the chakra of the Three-Tails simmering quietly.

"Do you remember?" Obito says, and Yagura, the doll, nods listlessly.

"Yes."

And there is nothing but Obito's words from Yagura's lips, doll's eyes, fixed and unmoving, cold gray skin, bloodless and pale.

 

*****

 

His scar is hurting again. Above him, the sky has opened up into a downpour, and the cold dampness of his surroundings aggravates the neuropathic pain.

"Tobi!" White Zetsu says, and he sees the way Obito is guarding himself, the balanced tension in his neck and shoulders. "Oh? Tobi what's wrong? Is your face hurting again?"

"It is none of your concern," Obito says, and Black Zetsu stares at him, as if in rebuke.

"You have been gone a long time. How long is this supposed to take?"

"As long as it requires," Obito says. "Nagato already knows of my plans: I am confident he will execute them."

"You are wrong," Black Zetsu says. "They act as freedom fighters. They take part in skirmishes in which they have no involvement.

They have not yet captured bijou, nor have they made any plans to."

"That is fine for now," Obito says. "There is not enough money to fund such missions. Furthermore, I have my hands on the Three Tails. I am only waiting for the right opportunity to exploit him."

"Attaboy, Tobi!" White Zetsu says, but Black Zetsu raises a hand.

"We must not delay," Black Zetsu says. "You have raised enough money already. Why not take the Three Tails now?"

"It will raise their suspicions," Obito says. "If their Mizukage disappears, they would have every reason to suspect me, and by extension, the Akatsuki. We are not strong enough to weather that threat."

"There were talks of a coup, Black Zetsu says. "Why did you not dispose of the Three Tails then?"

Obito stops.

It was Kisame who warned him about Zabuza, and Obito had rewarded him well for that particular tidbit of information. But now Black Zetsu is watching him, and Obito knows, just as well as Black Zetsu knows, that the coup was ample opportunity to leave: he could have had Yagura "escape." The villagers would believe him to be alive while Obito could transport him to the Akatsuki at his leisure. No one would miss him, a deposed kage and tyrant, both.

The mask aggravates him; rain falls, sliding down the sides of the smooth wood, and it's all Obito can do from reaching inside and sooth the pin-prick stinging with his hand.

"I do not answer to you," Obito says. "The Moon's Eye Plan will take effect. It will just time. Patience. And I promise you, your precious Madara will be brought back."

He lets his words linger, sharingan turning, as if he could cut daggers with his eye.

He has bled their country dry. He has funneled money into the Akatsuki's war chest and ruthlessly killed any and all who opposed him. He had taken particular glee in this, because they killed Rin and because this had furthered his plans.

And yet. This is not what he wanted. He has taken a small measure of revenge, but he knows his ultimate goal is still much higher.

"Just remember," Black Zetsu says.

"We are always watching."

"Then watch," Obito says, throwing Rin's words back at them, then watching with satisfaction as they meld back into the wall.

 

*****

 

"Mizukage-sama! Please!"

The man screams, the chains above him rattling as the guards sear the hot iron into the man's flesh. He is the man directly responsible for the attack on Kakashi and Rin. Months of careful research and planning have brought him to this, and Obito relishes in his vengeance. The smell of smoke and charred skin is sickly sweet in Obito's nostrils, but the thin genjutsu net keeps anyone from seeing him; they see only Yagura, impassive and unmoving, as the man who likely engineered Rin's death screams out and writhes.

"Please," the man says. "Mercy!" Another stab; the man cries out again, agonized. Obito lets Yagura step forward.

Blood and vomit trickle from the corners of the man's lips, which are cracked and peeling at the sides, and a thin sheen of sweat shines from the man's head. Slowly the man's mouth and face begin to move, a paroxysm of pain and supplication, and his lips twist into a grotesque parody of human speech.

"Mizukage-sama," the man says. He snivels. Wretched human being. "Please."

"Kill him," Yaguara says, and the man's eyes widen.

"Mizukage-sama! Wait--"

The sword slices through him like a satchel of wine. Blood spatters onto the paving stones and drips from the wounds in his belly, the puddle of blood catching the light of the torch like a reflection on water.

His scar hurts. Nothing makes it go away.

 

*****

 

There are talks of a rebel fighter, a woman with two bloodline limits. Terumi Mei, a survivor of the bloodline purges. Quietly Obito makes note of his newest threat, and decides it would be prudent to let her win.

She attacks the compound. Obito waits while Yagura's men try to put up a fight, before slipping away in darkness, taking Yagura with him. The former Mizukage is quiet and surprisingly docile, and when he removes the Three Tails, it is surprisingly easy to control.

The Kyuubi was not easy to control. Unlike Madara, who broke and rode the Kyuubi at will, Obito only had one eye, and he could barely restrain the beast, who was newly released and thrashing for freedom. The Kyuubi reared and bucked and thrashed against his control, and it took all of Obito's powers to keep the Kyuubi subdued. Afterwards, when the whole debacle with Minato and the re-sealing occurred, Obito removed his mask and was surprised to feel it, the thin trickle of blood rolling down the corner of his eye.

The Three Tails, however, is a completely different matter, and Obito has no problems at all subduing it. Around him, the monster groans and heaves and thick waves of chakra are sucked up into the dark; it's only then that Yagura's body falls, limp and lifeless, careening against the jutting rocks and landing with a dull thud.

"Are you satisfied?" Obito says, and Black Zetsu says nothing, melting into the walls.

 

*****

 

3.

There are talks of genocide. Half-whispered rumors swirling among the ANBU nin. Obito has eyes and ears reaching the farthest corners of the world, and he is not surprised when he hears the Uchiha are threatening to rebel, and the Leaf is considering taking action.

Konoha. Even now, the name sticks in his chest like swallowed pieces of old dried bread, and it incenses him, the threat of violence against his clan.

"Where are you going?" Black Zetsu says, and Obito throws him a look.

"Konoha," Obito says, and he fixes his gaze forward.

He plans on making war. Tear down the village that killed Rin and would wipe out his clan. "The Kyuubi is there," Obito says. White Zetsu smiles and Black Zetsu doesn't say anything, just watches as Obito pulls on his traveling cloak.

 

*****

 

He is intercepted by the unlikeliest of people.

The morning is cool and the sky is still dark when Uchiha Itachi finds him, and Obito can't help but notice the dark, desperate look in Itachi's eyes, sharingan turning like slow-burning coals. "Will you help me?" Itachi says.

Obito looks at him. He is, as all Uchiha are, a beautiful child, long neck curved like the edge of a scythe. The sharingan peers out from wisps of bangs in the murky half-light, and silently, Obito counts the ways in which he could destroy him.

"You are asking me," Obito says, slowly, "If I will help you destroy our clan."

It is not a question. Itachi nods.

"Yes," Itachi says.

"Why?" Obito says.

"I wish to challenge myself," Itachi says. "To measure my capacity. What better way than to challenge Konoha's elite? And I'm sure you have many grievances against our clan."

"You will have to think of a better lie," Obito tells him, and Itachi's eyes widen imperceptibly. "A would-be psychopath would not have the foresight to ask for help.

How old are you?" Obito says.

"Fourteen."

"I see."

Leaves rustle. A crow flies, its feather floating silently down.

 

*****

 

He stands at the edge of a cliff face and looks down on his handiwork. Drenched in moonlight, the Uchiha quarter burns. Smoke rises. Orange flames lick the violet sky, and it almost looks beautiful. A world destroyed and remade.

When it was over, Itachi had staggered and retched and vomited into the river when he thought no one was looking, but Obito saw everything. Saw him crying in front of his parents and saw him spare his brother's life. Itachi had that same look as he does now, haggard and drained, both eyes red and puffy. But when Obito approached, Itachi looked at him with a studied hardness, face bone-white against the dark line of trees.

"So?" Obito said, and he could not keep out the bitterness in his voice. The mocking. "Did you measure it? Your capacity?"

And Itachi said nothing. Obito watched as the boy's shoulders shook. An internal struggle to keep control.

Rage. It comes and crashes down on him like the weight of a thousand boulders, and he wants nothing more than to snap, break, tear the world that would have a child burn up in the center of phoenix flame, the injustice of forcing a fourteen year-old boy to shoulder the elders' manifold sins.

He pulls out Rin's bandage. He twists the fabric tight around his knuckles, wrapping it twice and pulling hard, until the edges start to cut into the flesh of his hand.

 

*****

 

That night, Obito lays out the things he has kept with him since childhood:

The first is the bandage. Hopelessly sentimental, but he allows himself the indulgence.

The second is a small action figurine his parents had gotten him, their first and only gift. They had died a few months later, in the war.

The third is a picture of Rin, meticulously cut from the remnants of their team photograph, which Obito had destroyed in a fit of confusion and despair: afterwards, when the drumming of his heartbeat had settled and his vision was no longer cloudy, he spent hours on the floor piecing back the ripped pieces and taping it together, much to the Zetsu's amusement.

The fourth is a note, which Obito used to keep tucked away behind the picture frame of the team photo. It was right after he had gotten beat up by Gai during his first attempt at chuunin exams: he had been embarrassed and sulking and he didn't want to talk to anyone after that. He found it folded up and shoved unceremoniously in his locker, written in bright blue pen:

_Dear Obito,_

_That was probably the worst fight_   
_I've ever seen, but that's okay :3_   
_You never gave up._

_That's your best quality. Keep at it_   
_and please cheer up :-)_   
_\- Rin_

And she signed her name with a heart next to it.

At the time, Obito had been torn between feeling mortified and ecstatic, because Rin took the time to write to him but also because she noticed how much he sucked, but he kept the note anyway, conflicting emotions aside.

Now Obito spreads the note out on the ground, re-reading it. The note has been folded and re-folded so many times the creases are starting to tear into the paper, and the edges of the note are soft and careworn. Carefully, Obito lays them all out in a row, the note, the bandage, the photo and the figurine. He lays them out with quiet reverence, pausing to touch either the little figurine or the note or the pieced-together photo.

He starts a modest fire. In the flames, the edges of the photo and the note blacken and curl, the figurine begins to bubble up on itself, melting slowly with dripping plastic. It's only after some time that Obito decides to keep the bandage, plucking it out from the flame and smoothing the charred fabric, which has begun to curl and fray under his fingers.

The fire crackles. Embers rise on the up-current, kissing the nighttime air, and Obito watches, fire reflected in his eyes, and wonders when his heart too will shrivel up like so much paper.

 

******

 

4.

Zetsu reports the Akatsuki's movements. They're fighting a war, then they're fighting another war. They act as soldiers of fortune, hired guns, fighting the good fight, an obvious holdover of Nagato's good intentions. Most if not all the missing nin on the Akatsuki's roster are doing it for the money, but Nagato runs the organization like they're Ame Freedom Fighters, furthering political agendas and overthrowing tyrannical rule.

"Why has this not been done?" Obito asks, when Nagato and Konan meet him on the outskirts of Amegakure, rain falling like battering rams against the side of the cave. "In all the years of the Akatsuki's service, and you have only one bijou: the Three Tails, which I had captured myself."

"I apologize," Nagato-as-Pein says, the Tendo Pein's purple eyes sliding up to meet his. "There is much injustice in this world. We only seek to rectify it."

"You are floundering," Obito says. "There is no saving the trash that's collected on this world. I seek to end it," Obito says, and he turns, a sharp rebuke:

"Get me the bijou, and I swear to you, this will end all war."

Itachi joins the Akatsuki, thinking he's infiltrated Obito's organization. Pein may not know, and neither do the other members, but Obito is well aware of Itachi's furtive messages, sent by hawk to Danzou by secret.

It does not matter. To control the bijou needs a working pair of sharingan, and Itachi is a missing nin. He will do nothing to jeopardize his cover.

 

******

 

He claps his hands and spins into a pirouette, laughs loudly and proclaims some singsong nonsense about how killing thirty men was a lot of fun, but Deidara is horror-struck and Kisame is standing, silent, and the thick, sickly smell of blood and bodies rises up from the ground.

"Why do you act like that?" Nagato asks him one day, when they're standing alone at the mouth of the cave.

"Because you are the leader," Obito says. "I cannot have them suspecting me."

He does not tell him that acting the fool allows him to keep a close eye, and the Moon's Eye Plan goes back on track, and the next day, Itachi and Kisame drag in another bijou.

That night, he looks at himself in the mirror. His face is pale and his eyes are rimmed with black circles, and the scars on his face are still angry, jagged. Uneven patches of skin sewn together and knitted to bone, splayed outward like a crater of broken rock, and silently he wonders if Rin were to see him, if she'd be afraid.

 

*****

 

This is what he imagines:

Small hands would come to touch the back of his head, coming close to his hunched figure sitting on the bed. She would be standing. Her body would be a dark shape against the moonlight of the window, and she would stand close beside him, letting him bow his head to touch her chest. They would stay like that for a moment, Rin's hands on the nape of Obito's neck, his forehead against her sternum, eyes closed and nudging his cheek against the soft space between her neck and shoulder.

_Dear Obito,_

_That was probably the worst fight I've ever seen, but that's okay._

_You never gave up._

_That's your best quality._

_Keep at it and please cheer up._

And it feels like this: a gentle palm at the back of his neck.

A warm hand, comforting and squeezing the back of his shoulder.

 

*****

 

5.

He is furious. Nagato is dead and Konan has defected, and Obito just sits and seethes with a slow-boiling rage.

"Tobi? What's wrong?"

He kills the Zetsu without even blinking, neck snapping and body slamming against the wall with a dull thud.

 

*****

 

The fight with Konan does not go as he had planned.

Rain falls, and Obito stands, water rolling off his torn cloak and shoulders. His scar hurts and the ache is deep-seated and familiar, and reflexively he reaches his left hand in his pocket, to finger the scrap of fabric tucked in there.

But there is nothing. Obito's eyes widen a moment, when he realizes he must have lost the bandage in the explosion.

After the killing spree in Kirigakure, after Obito had spent the night crying into Rin's body, he dragged himself to the cave where the Zetsus were staying, and asked if he could take a bath. His body was sweaty and sticky and old dried blood stuck within the crevices of scars, and Obito longed to stand beneath the comforting spray of warm water.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Scars marred the right side of his face, and his one eye was bloodshot, hair falling over his shoulders in matted curls. Without the scar, Obito had the exact likeness of Uchiha Madara: the same gaunt face, the same tired expression. The same bruises making dark circles under his eyes.

He cut his hair in the sink with the blade of a rusted knife, yanking out fistfuls of hair and letting them fall around him. One harsh cut. Another. Tufts of hair fell in large clumps on the floor and sink, and Obito hacked it off unevenly, almost violently, angry clumps of hair sticking along the sweat of his forehead and face.

Because she was dead, she was not with him. He thought of cold skin and wide, wet eyes; her body, a heavy weight in his arms, bent and broken like a torn up doll's.

Warmth. It fills the back of his one good eye and fills his vision with a cloudy haze, and it's as if the events of the last few years finally spills over: because his body is battered and his soul is split, and her bandage is torn away from him, like a gouged-out eye or a broken limb, the hole in his heart that will never fully heal.

 

*****

 

Her gravestone is smooth, brushed free of the falling snow that has started to settle on the ground. It is the first and last time Obito will visit her here, standing over her nameplate in his mask and traveling cloak. Visitors have just left flowers here, the petals glistening in a darkness that seems suffused with lonely starlight. His Rinnegan turns, remembering.

Obito has seen much. He has seen armies rise and nations fall, the drum-beat cadence of civilizations booming and bursting like burnt out stars, and he reminds himself that there is no pain. Only the clarity of purpose to light his way.

In the cold, his scar aches. Quietly, Obito adjusts his mask, letting the tips of his fingers trace the edges of pitted scars, before pulling up the hood of his traveling cloak, his sharingan spinning, the swirl of the kamui teleporting him far, far away.


End file.
